


The Angel vs Demon Apocalypse of 2014

by Englandwouldfall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, M/M, Post-Season/Series 09, Prank Wars, SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SEASON NINE, Why Did I Write This?, abuse of devils traps, and salt rings, helltus is having affects on me, send help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Sam Winchester should have known better than to kick start a prank war with an irritable demon and a  half dying angel (sort of? Maybe? Not if they can stop it), but emotions were running high and it seemed like a good idea at the time...</p><p>And, come on, Dean totally started it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel vs Demon Apocalypse of 2014

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Just for the record... I know that this story is ridiculous, but we haven't seen any of the main characters laugh for like a couple of seasons... and i watched the episode with Dean and Sam's prank war from the first season... and there's been so much potential with the current set up... so yes there might be some plot... or not. Mostly this is just kinda cracky.

Sam Winchester mastered the art of light sleeping in his early teens and never quite lost it. Even in Stanford, he’d wake up at the slightest noise and be reaching for the non-existent knife under his bed (at least the knife was non-existent in the later years, when he’d learnt to relax, and that pulling knives on roommates got you some weird looks, and when he often had Jess in his bed, too). It was engrained in his brain that you weren’t supposed to completely turn off, not for a minute, lest it get you killed.

And, generally, it’s useful skill. 

Except not right now, when his brain goes from zero to one eighty in a couple of seconds, and he’s half way out of bed before he realises the threat that he’s identified is _Asia._ He spends the next few seconds completely disorientated, half convinced he’s woken up to another everlasting string of Tuesdays and, hey, maybe all of this is just a bad dream (and, damn, he’s never wished that he _was_ back to that Tuesday before), before he registers that he’s in the bunker, not that god awful motel. 

The source of the music turns out to be Dean’s other, other cell, and for a moment Sam sinks back on his bed and tries to stop himself from doing something stupid. Because, of course, Dean thinks waking him up with Asia is just hilarious, because he’s never been stuck in a god damn time loop, and he didn’t watch his brother die day after day unable to stop it, and Dean’s sense of humour has been somewhat twisted lately. 

It takes approximately three minutes from Sam waking to Sam storming into the kitchen with Dean’s cell clutched between his fingers. Sam’s taken the high road and not flushed Dean’s cell down the toilet, largely because they’ve been going through a lot of phones lately; apparently, Dean has anger management issues. 

Dean is grinning like the self-satisfied asshole he is, and Sam is done with his brother. Except he’s not which, as Dean likes to remind him, is like ninety percent of the problem. Permanently. Sam’s brandishing his phone out to Dean, bitch face instated, and Dean’s grinning from ear to ear because just Dean Winchester loves Asia. “Dean!” Sam’s half yelling, except it doesn’t help. 

“Pig and a poke?” Dean suggests. 

Sam slams the phone down on the counter so hard the screen smashes slightly, which is kind of ironic considering how he’s the only one in the bunker who doesn’t have superhuman strength these days. 

“Careful, Sammy,” Dean says, frowning, eyes narrowing and the tell-tale flash of black which indicates that Sam’s friendly gesture has succeeded in pissing his brother off. Well, likewise. 

Sam is pissed off. 

There’s the emotional turmoil of his brother once again being damned to hell and the intense relief that Dean isn’t dead after all, and the wild goose change to find him, and trying to remember that Cas has problems too, and the whole thing has put everyone in a really bad mood… none of which was exactly helped by Sam putting them all on lockdown until they can sort everything out and make a decision about what to do next, necessary as it is. Of all the shitty side effects of his brother becoming a full blown demon, Sam’s got to say that Dean’s rediscovered sense of _humour_ has got to be one of the worst bits. And, honestly, it’s not what he was expecting. 

(That and Dean’s bitch fists about not being able to touch basically _everything_ he owns, given a lifetime of being demon proofing happy.) 

“Asia,” Sam says, “Asia, Dean. Really?” 

“You broke my phone,” 

“You wake me up with _Asia?_ ” 

“My phone, Sammy,” Dean half growls, picking up the shattered phone and crushing it in his fist. His eyes are still the jet black that sets all of Sam’s monster instincts on edge and because Dean is still Dean (probably), he can tell that it does, which means a simple frigging argument becomes more emotionally charged than it really has a right to. Dean can tell that a part of Sam wants to start reciting exorcisms and… yeah, it’s messed up. This whole thing is messed up. 

“Dean,” Sam sighs, looking at the now crushed mass of Dean’s cell, “We could have just fixed the screen.” 

“You could have not broken it in the first place,” Dean says, blinking away the black of his eyes. His expression is still set in irritation though, so of course the only solution to this is to walk away. “Two way street.” 

He can’t keep yelling at Dean and he can’t fight Dean (because superhuman demon strength, which he could do without being reminded of all the damn time, by the way), and nothing good is coming of this, anyway. 

“Hey Sammy,” Dean says when Sam’s nearly at the door of the kitchen, ready to go take a breather in his room and try to remember what the point of this whole lockdown is, “Guess you could say we got caught up in the _heat of the moment.”_

Dean has that stupid shit eating grin plastered all over his face. It’s the expression Dean’s always gotten when he’s super pleased with himself but feels like he shouldn’t be, and it’s a throwback to Dean Larping and their old prank wars and days when they actually used to enjoy each other’s company. 

Sam’s chest tightens and he rolls his eyes as if he actually finds it funny, rather than heart breaking, and then locks himself in library for the next three hours to try and work out how he’s supposed to deal with this whole thing. 

The worst part of all of it is Sam knows what Deans trying to do. 

He’s reminding him about all the god damn times he saw Dean die, and is trying to remind him of the impasse that they’ve once again reached. Dean refuses to be cured (‘we don’t even know if it the damn cure works’) and Sam refuses to put Ruby’s knife through his chest (‘likewise, Dean. We don’t even know if you _can_ die’), so they’re on a self-imposed lock down until they’ve considered all their god damn options… which would be fine, if Dean wasn’t such a pain in the neck. 

Well, Sam decides, slamming the confiscated knife into the desk (Dean isn’t allowed anything that he can kill himself or others with, by mutual decision), two can play at the game. 

* 

Another thing that Sam’s finding unduly irritating, is Cas and Dean’s habit of watching him eat. Given his semi-emotional chat with Cas way back when about the atoms of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, he gets that food is one of the things that Cas misses about being human (although, given the way things are going at the moment, he might wind up back there again… they’re working on it), and he knows his brother is still adjusting to the fact that, technically, he doesn’t have to eat either… but this frigging audience every time he sits down to eat is tiring. 

“You gotta put so much salt on that, Sam?” Dean frowns. 

“No one’s asking you to steal my food, Dean,” Sam bites back, pulling his plate further towards him. Cas is watching him with an expression of flat concentration and, as much as it used to make him feel slightly uncomfortable, he’d honest to god prefer it if Cas directed that look at Dean instead. 

Things have been weird between them, lately. First, he had Cas’ unbearably sincere relief that Dean was alive, which has been all kinds of uncomfortable, along with his bewildered anguish as to why Dean was avoiding him. Cut to Cas seeing Dean’s brand new ‘true face’ or whatever that was, and the demon bombshell etc. etc. and nothing’s quite been figured out yet. 

“We found any way to get Cas his juice back, yet?” Dean asks, right as Sam takes a mouthful of food. He has the audacity to look irritated that Sam isn’t answering him straight away, so Sam chews extra slowly to piss him off further. 

“It’s not possible to get my grace back, Dean,” Cas pipes up, just as Sam was about to speak, “It was used up in Metatron’s spell.” 

“Riigght,” Dean says, “Which you know thanks to those cosy little chats you’ve been having with him upstairs –” 

“– Dean –” 

“ – after he killed me, if we remember that,” Dean says, “I don’t know, man, I’d trust his info a little more if you stuck a blade in him first.” 

“– no angel has ever stolen grace before,” Sam interjects, “So this is an unprecedented problem.” 

“Can’t you just steal some more?” Dean asks, turning to look at Cas face on. “It’s quick and dirty, but it works.” 

“For a few months,” Sam says, “And then we have the same problem.” 

“There’s a lot of angels,” Dean shrugs, “Lot of grace.” 

“No, Dean,” Cas says, expression folding into discomfort. Sam doesn’t exactly blame him, either, because it’s exactly the kind of thing human demon would have written off immediately, and every small difference between his brother before and his brother now is a little like a stab wound. 

“We could… remove the rest of Cas’ stolen grace,” Sam ventures, “And make him human again.” 

“No,” Dean says, with enough force that it throws Sam for a minute. Whilst Dean had always made jokes about Cas’ uselessness as a human, Sam’s known from the off that Dean secretly always wanted it. Cas human meant that Cas might stick around and properly join the pair of them in the mud, rather than flying off to fight fights much too big for them to comprehend. “We’re not leaving Cas human,” 

“Why? Cas can look after himself,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “It’s not ideal, but I don’t know we have a whole lot of options.” 

“Urgh,” Dean complains around one of Sam’s French fries, face scrunching up in pain. “Really, Sam? That much salt?” 

“Quit changing the subject. You don’t mind being human, do you Cas?” 

Cas is looking at Dean looking at the chip looking slightly betrayed, and doesn’t appear to be listening to a damn word that Sam is saying. He’s used to being second place when it comes to Cas, but he had thought they’d bonded in the days after the whole incident with Gadreel that he’d honestly rather not talk about. 

“Cas,” Sam prompts. 

“Quit nagging the guy,” Dean says, because now they’re back to have eye sex across the table. Sam takes back everything he said about preferring Cas to stare at Dean rather than himself, because the whole demon-angel thing has added this whole other layer of star crossed lovers to their soul-staring, and it’s really hard to eat when this century's greatest love story is busy not happening half a meter away from his plate. “You know what I learnt today,” Dean says, “Whilst you yahoos were slacking off,” (by slacking off, Dean generally means sleeping, eating, washing; you know, those things that the mud monkeys have to do), “Demons can’t exorcize themselves." 

There’s a collective wince from him and Cas because, damn, neither of them thought about that danger. 

“Dean,” Sam complains, throwing his hands up, “We said we weren’t doing anything stupid.” 

“You said that,” Dean objects, eyes flashing black again. Cas may have decided the best way to deal with their problems was using a democratic system (some side effect from having the whole history of literature and pop culture downloaded into his brain and his time as general of the angel troops), and Sam agreed because at least he can count on Cas not to allow Dean to get himself killed, and since they’ve been voting on what to do vis a vis the Cas-is-dying-and-Dean’s-a-demon-now situation. It’s stupid and it pissed Dean off, but it’s been enough to delay him doing something stupid so Sam doesn’t really care that much. “I didn’t get a say.” 

“You tried to possess me when we took the vote, Dean!” Sam snaps, because he’s beyond fed up with the lot of it, and he can’t get the stupid Asia song out of his head. “Do you know how much therapy I need after that?” 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gotten your anti possession tattoo redone,” Dean shoots back, “and it’s not a frigging democracy when someone’s handcuffed in the cellar.” 

“We decided upon majority rule,” Cas says, “We’d have still had two thirds of the vote.” 

“Blow me, Cas,” Dean snaps, and waits for just long enough for Sam to reach for another forkful of food before asking, “So, any news on Crowley?” 

“Nothing,” Cas answers for him, probably sensing his growing irritation via his slowly dying angel senses. 

“Nothing,” Dean repeats, “frigging fantastic.” Dean reaches forward and steals another french fry, frowning at it. “How the hell did Ruby eat french fries, anyway?” 

“What?” Sam asks. 

“Ruby,” Dean says, “Remember her, the demon you banged?” 

“Dean,” Sam says, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not really in a position to talk.” 

“Bite me,” Dean bites back, “Go on, you might even enjoy it. Bet my blood tastes good now.” 

Sam feels sort of winded. 

“Dean,” Cas chastises. 

“What?” Dean demands. “I’m through with this. We’re sat here twiddling our thumbs day after day, so you can have committee meetings and decide whether or not you’re going to kill me.” 

Hence Dean pushing him by being as obtuse and annoying as possible, as if finding Dean irritating would make it easier to stick a knife in him, or put a bullet from the colt thought his head. Then again, Dean’s always been just plain illogical when it comes to Sam’s regard of Dean’s life (not that he’s helped that in recent times, but he was really hurting when he said that stuff, and he told Dean he was lying back when he was dying again). Either way, none of its exactly helping the situation. 

It doesn’t matter that he knows Dean is just trying to push his buttons to prove that he’s a big bad monster that needs killing now, it still hurts to hear those words from Dean’s lips. 

“I need some air,” Sam says, standing up, “You coming, Cas?” 

“The hell you’re leaving me here,” Dean says, making to stand up. He freezers mid motion, though, his ass comically stuck in position. He tries again, using his hands to try and push himself off the seat and getting nowhere. The laugh falls out of Sam’s lips before he can really stop it and that’s probably the moment that the realisation hits, and Dean’s black gaze rises meets his. “You didn’t.” 

“Devils trap on your favourite chair,” Sam says, grinning, “Yes I did.” 

_“Bitch!”_ Dean says, trying again to get off the chair with no avail. 

“You shouldn’t have woken me up to Asia, jerk,” Sam bites back, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair as he goes. He makes a point to dangle the keys to the Impala between his fingers before slipping them in his pocket, because they haven’t quite managed to get rid of all the devil’s traps yet, so Dean hasn’t been able to drive her for weeks. 

He feels a tiny bit guilty as Cas follows him out the front door of the bunker, but if Dean’s starting a prank war then… damn, he better be prepared for the consequences.


End file.
